Darkness Before Dawn Read online

  Rhonda and Tyrone sat cuddled together in the back seat, Gerald and Jalani sat together on the middle seat.

  “Hey, I thought you guys were going to meet us there!” I said as I climbed in.

  “I offered to drive, since it’s still a little slippery and I’ve got four-wheel drive,” Jonathan explained.

  “Cool,” I said, as I settled into the front seat with Jonathan. I glanced through his CD box on the seat and checked out his collection—jazz, rock, blues—dozens of sweet sounds. I smiled with quiet satisfaction as we sailed smoothly to the movie theater.

  We chattered about school and Christmas and college application deadlines, Jonathan adding just enough to the conversation to fit in, but not enough to act older than we were. Jonathan paid for all of us, even though Gerald and Tyrone pretended to complain, and we entered the darkened movie theater just as the previews finished.

  Rhonda whispered to Jalani, “The previews are the best part! I hate it when I miss those.”

  “Yeah,” Jalani agreed. “How am I going to know what I want to see next week? I love the commercialism! I admit it. Sell me something—I’m a pawn of the system!”

  I laughed, and the movie came on with a blast of loud music and beautiful scenery. Gerald and Tyrone had wanted to see Monster Man Six, but had given in to us girls, who wanted to see the movie that Jonathan had picked out. It was in Italian and had subtitles and was about love and life and miracles. Me and Rhonda and Jalani loved it, of course, and we all cried at the end. Gerald and Tyrone slept through the second half. The first half they kept getting up to get popcorn. Jonathan watched it all, sometimes translating the Italian for me, when the subtitles got to be confusing. Again, I was amazed at him.

  “When did you learn Italian?” I asked.

  “We lived all over Europe when I was little. I know a little German and French as well,” he said modestly. “Dad was career army. He worked his way up through the ranks; he left as a major and an administrator in the army educational system.”

  “That must have been an exciting childhood,” I said with interest.

  “It was awful,” Jonathan said bitterly. “My father was never at home. He never could come to my activities at school. He’d travel all over Europe for army events, but there was no time for me.”

  After the movie, Jonathan talked about it like some kind of movie critic on TV. He argued about the choices the characters had to make, and brought out details that I had never even noticed. I was fascinated, but Tyrone and Gerald looked at Jonathan like they looked at our history teacher—they just hoped he’d shut up soon. They promised they would take Jalani and Rhonda to see Monster Man Six during Christmas vacation.

  Jonathan dropped off Jalani and Rhonda, then Tyrone and Gerald. Finally it was just me and Jonathan—alone in the car.

  “Did you enjoy it?” he asked me as the music played softly from the back speakers.

  “I really did,” I admitted. “You know so much, or at least you’ve got thoughts on so much that it seems like you’re really smart.”

  “Ah,” he said smiling, “you have discovered my secret.”

  I smiled back. “It works,” I said quietly. “Don’t knock it.” I paused, then continued. “Tell me about your mother. How did she like army life?”

  Jonathan drove silently through the frosty night. Then he said, with great emotion, “My mother was very lonely, and eventually very bitter about living the army life. She became irritable, short-tempered, and just plain mean. Since my dad wasn’t there to yell at most of the time, she took her frustrations out on me. I was never good enough or smart enough or fast enough to please her. I loved her, but it seemed like I couldn’t make her love me.” He was silent again. “I’ve said too much,” he said finally.

  “I’m glad you told me,” I said quietly. I was impressed with his honest show of emotion. “Have you and your mom kinda smoothed things out now that you are . . . grown?”

  “I haven’t seen my mother since I was thirteen, when she and Dad got divorced. She left without saying goodbye.” He sighed. “Dad eventually left the military and married a pleasantly plump and sinfully rich woman who spent the rest of my teenage years trying to build up my self-esteem by giving me money to spend and telling me how good-looking I was! So I guess I can’t complain.”

  I smiled and glanced over at Jonathan, who had relaxed a bit. “She’s right, you know,” I said shyly. I can’t believe I said that to him!

  Jonathan said nothing, but hummed a soft tune as he drove me home. We pulled into my driveway a full half hour before Daddy had told me to be back. My father had strung Christmas lights outside and they looked cheerful and festive against the darkness. I noticed that the light was still on in my parents’ bedroom.

  “Very pretty,” Jonathan said to the darkness.

  “Daddy’s decorations?” I asked.

  “Sure, those, too, but I was talking about you.” He looked directly at my face, his golden eyes fastened on my brown ones. I couldn’t take it. I dropped my head and blushed. I felt fluttery inside, confused and uncomfortable. I hadn’t let myself feel that way since me and Andy had been really happy and tight together, which was months before his death. Jonathan’s cologne and the closeness of him in the car was more than I wanted to think about right now.

  I grabbed the door handle. “Thanks, Jonathan. I had fun. I really did. I better get inside now before my father comes out here with a grenade,” I joked.

  He laughed and got out of the car, and walked me carefully to the door. I fumbled for my keys, not sure what was supposed to happen next.

  Jonathan smiled at me in the dim glow of the porch light. He had to know how confused and shaky I felt. He touched my cheek gently with his finger, and said simply, “Good night, Keisha.” With that, he turned and walked back to his car. I just stood there for a moment, stunned at his gentleness and understanding.

  When I walked in the door, Mom was in the kitchen, getting a glass of milk that she probably did not really want. “How was it?” Mom asked, sipping the milk.

  “Really nice, Mom,” I said with feeling, still musing over the last few moments. “Really nice. We talked about the movie and about when he was kid. He drove me straight home, and then he touched my cheek and said good night. That’s it!”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah, not at all like I thought, and certainly not like you and Daddy worried about. He was really cool.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Mom said without enthusiasm, but she gave me that I-can-see-everything mom look. “Go say good night to your dad. He’s been worried, too.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Mom,” I said with a smile. But as I headed upstairs to speak to my father, a faint frown crossed my face. Jonathan was wonderful—like no one I had ever met—fine and sharp and smart, too. But there was something, something I couldn’t put my finger on, that bothered me. I couldn’t put it into words, wasn’t even sure what I felt. Worry? His childhood? I wasn’t sure. But I let the thought pass as I chattered with Daddy about the movie and the uneventful evening.

  Jonathan did not call the next day or the next. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to or not, but I found myself thinking about him more than I wanted to admit.

  On Christmas Eve, a huge bouquet of red roses, each tied individually with a silver ribbon, was delivered to my house. I squealed with delight, for no one had ever sent me flowers before. Now that’s the difference between a boy and a man! I thought with pleasure. A real man knew of course how to capture the heart of a lady. I searched for the card, but there was none. I called Rhonda and Jalani, and the three of us tried to decide if I should call Jonathan and thank him. They told me that since he hadn’t sent a card, he didn’t want to be thanked. Yet. Both girls came over to my house to admire the roses, sniffing them and giggling with me about what they meant. My parents weren’t impressed; I think they felt very uncomfortable with this young man who was so clever at pleasing their daughter.

  10
r />   On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, I stopped by Monty’s house and took him a gift. His mom hugged me and thanked me for always remembering Monty.

  “Monty’s my man,” I replied, laughing. As he got older, he was starting to look more and more like Andy.

  “A portable CD player!” Monty cried with joy. “Thanks, Keisha! You’re the best!” Monty wanted to be older, to be like the kids in high school. No one could tell him to enjoy being a kid while he could.

  I hugged him, remembering Andy as I touched the thick curliness of his hair. “Maybe before Christmas break is over, you can come to the mall with us and pick out a couple of CDs.” Monty beamed with pleasure, and hugged me again.

  I left Monty’s house, thinking of Andy and the past. I drove aimlessly, avoiding the area around Kenwood Mall, where people were jammed shoulder to shoulder grabbing stuff they didn’t even like for people they really didn’t care about. They had rushed to that last pre-Christmas sale before the after-Christmas sales began. I didn’t want to be a part of that mess. I knew that Rhonda was with Tyrone in that crowd, and Angel, along with Joyelle, and Gerald and Jalani were probably there, too.

  But I couldn’t deal with that today. The malls made Christmas into a hunk of phony plastic wrapped in pretty paper. I wanted to get one last gift for my mother—something real, something not made of plastic. Mom liked flowers. I figured I’d try to find a plant, something that would keep on living long after all the broken Christmas gifts had been returned to the store.

  With no particular destination in mind, I drove around, listening to Christmas music on the radio, and thinking about Andy. I ended up downtown, which was surprisingly empty for Christmas Eve. I guess most of the shoppers were in the malls. I stopped in front of a small flower shop with really pretty floral arrangements in the window. Mom would like this place, I thought, so I turned off the car and headed inside.

  I opened the door to the rich smell of blooms and leaves and soil. Standing behind the desk, snipping the petals of a poinsettia plant, was Leon Hawkins. When he glanced up and saw me, he inhaled in surprise. It’s the first time I remember that he didn’t even have anything funny to say.

  “Hi, Keisha,” he said, looking like my cocker spaniel does when I get home from school. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Well, hey, Leon. I sure didn’t expect to see anyone I knew!” Leon looked surprisingly good standing there—with short, black hair and taut muscles under his snowman tee-shirt. I was amazed that I hadn’t noticed before. He looked comfortable and relaxed in the flower shop.

  “What brings you here?” he asked, smiling shyly.

  “I’m not sure, Leon. I was just driving around, thinking about . . . you know, stuff that’s happened. I couldn’t deal with mall madness today, and I wanted to get my mom a nice plant. And somehow I just found myself here. I had no idea you worked here.”

  “I know the ghosts of Christmas past can be hard to live with,” Leon said gently. “I know all that happened last year is really hard for you to deal with.”

  “You sound like you’ve been there,” I said quietly. “You’re always in such a good mood—laughing and joking around.”

  “Sometimes I laugh to cover up other stuff,” Leon said shyly.

  “I’m sorry, Leon,” I said, a little embarrassed. “I should know better.”

  “Hey, don’t sweat it!” he said. “I think you’re really cool, Keisha, the way you’ve handled yourself through all this.” Leon snipped that poinsettia like a barber working on a man with an afro.

  “All I did was survive! There was no great plan. I just live one day at a time.” I started to chuckle to myself—the poinsettia had no leaves left.

  “Well, you make it look easy. Lots of kids at school admire you.”

  “Really?” I was genuinely surprised. I decided to change the subject. “How long you been working here?”

  “For pay off and on for about six years. I work during summer vacation, weekends, after school, and Christmas break. Before that I’m sure somebody was violating child labor laws ’cause I worked here for no pay at all!” He was smiling again.

  “You worked here as a kid without them paying you?” I was confused.

  Leon didn’t answer at first. “I was just about to close up and go home,” he said, still smiling. “The owner left several hours ago.” He still seemed nervous and excited that I was there—he snipped the entire top of the poinsettia off and it fell with a soft whoosh to the counter. Both of us burst out laughing.

  “I guess you got carried away!” I said. “Don’t worry. After tomorrow no one will want a poinsettia anyway!”

  “You’re right,” agreed Leon cheerfully. “Here,” he said, shoving two of the red and green plants toward me, and a Christmas cactus as well. “Merry Christmas! Take these home to your mom.”

  “You want to trim them first?” I said, teasing him.

  “Yeah, let me go get my chain saw!” he said, laughing. “Seriously, I want your mom to have these.”

  “Won’t your boss mind if you give his plants away?” I asked.

  “No,” explained Leon. “My boss is my dad. He bought this shop when he got out of college, so I grew up here. I guess it’s always been me and my dad. I’ve hung around this shop all my life. He just started paying me for it when I turned twelve. I love it here—the smells, the beauty, the colors . . . and the way the flowers make people smile.” He stopped, looked at me, then turned away.

  “I understand, Leon,” I replied. I could see how embarrassed he was. “Especially in the winter, blooming flowers bring smiles to folks like me who are sad and confused. Just this morning, I got a huge bouquet of roses delivered to my door and it really made my day!”

  “Really?” Leon replied with surprise. “Who were they from?” he asked.

  “He didn’t sign the card, but I know they were from this guy I went out with one time. They were just beautiful and showed so much class, you know what I mean?”

  Leon smiled. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Anything that could make you happy must be dynamite!”

  Leon tidied up the shop and turned out the lights. I walked out with him, carrying the plants he had given me, still not sure how I ended up at that particular shop, but glad that I had. As we headed out the door, I asked, “Aren’t you going to take a flower for your mom, or is she sick of flowers from the shop?”

  Leon’s smiled faded for a moment, then he shifted back into Leon-the-goofy-joke-teller, a place where it seemed like he felt more comfortable. “I could never play the dozens as a kid, you know,” he said instead of answering me. He double-checked the lock of the flower shop door.

  “Huh?” I was confused.

  “You know, the dozens, where you talk about somebody’s mama,” he explained.

  “Of course I know what the dozens are,” I replied, laughing. “Yo mama wear army boots. Yo mama got bad breath, and so on. But what does that have to do with you?

  Leon tried to act silly, but he just couldn’t keep joking. “I could never play the dozens because my mother was honest-to-goodness, straitjacket, rubber-wall crazy. Nuts! Wacko! She would play in the snow in her bare feet and walk to the grocery store butt-naked in a rainstorm! She’d sing real loud and off-key in church during the sermon, and cry during any TV commercial that had a cat in it. She believed she could fly and several times I had to stop her from jumping from windows. All my childhood I tried to cover for her and pretend she was normal, but it’s very hard to live with a serious schizophrenic. Finally it got to be more than me and my dad and a whole busload of doctors could handle, so she went to live in California at a residential facility that’s run by my Aunt Lucy, who’s a psychiatrist.”

  I didn’t know what to say. “Is she still there? In California?” I finally asked when Leon said nothing. We were walking slowly out to the street to where I had parked my car.

  “No. She loved the ocean, and one day she just decided to become a part of it. Aunt Lucy told us it happened so quickly tha
t no one had time to stop her or save her.”

  I gasped. “I’m so sorry, Leon. I never knew.”

  “I’ve never told anyone else,” he said. Then he tried to jump back with a joke. “So now you know why I’m so crazy!” he said, laughing halfheartedly.

  “That’s not funny!” I told him. “Don’t joke like that. It’s OK to cry sometimes. Trust me. I do it all the time!”

  Leon smiled at me with a look that coulda melted snow. But I kinda understood where he was coming from. He slid on the ice and made himself slip and fall. I laughed and we both felt better—less embarrassed. I helped him up, and he headed down the street, turning to say, “Merry Christmas, Keisha. I guess I’ll see you at school after the break.”

  I was confused. “Where are you parked?”

  “Oh, I took the bus this morning. My dad needed the car to finish up the Christmas shopping.”

  “You think I’m gonna let you wait on the bus in the freezing cold on Christmas Eve? Be for real! Hop in. I’ll take you home.”

  Leon didn’t hesitate. “Thanks, Keisha. I was hoping you would, but I didn’t want to ask. It was the bus this afternoon, or a skateboard! And it’s just too cold to be sliding my behind all over this ice! I know—I tried!”

  “Well, what are friends for?” I asked as we got into the car.

  “Are we friends, Keisha?” Leon asked quietly.

  “Of course we are. I’ve known you since, since ...”

  “Kindergarten.”

  “Has it been that long?”

  “I’ve always watched you, Keisha. You were always pretty and popular—like a butterfly—fluttering and shining for others to admire. People like to hang around you. Me, I’m the class fool. I stub my toe in front of the class to get a laugh, or kiss an aardvark at the zoo, or wear my pants and shirt backward to make people laugh.”

  “I’m glad I’ve gotten the chance to know you better.” I told him. “I’m sorry if I, if I . . . ,” I wasn’t sure what to say.